Friends And Followers,

Many moons ago, I wrote this post about one of, if not my favorite, ship in the Ace Attorney series. That being Klavier Gavin/Ema Skye, a.k.a Klema. At the time, I said in the tags of the post that I would probably revisit it and add things that I didn't include at the time. Looking at it again, I would say that my feelings remain largely the same... so maybe it's time to add those extra thoughts to the post:

Give me post-AJ Ema and Klavier spending time together at work where they’re more cordial at first. Where it’s awkward because she doesn’t want to say anything insensitive because he’s Been Through A Lot Lately. And he’s polite too but he notices the tension between them, and neither of them know how to get past it. He doesn't want to be treated like glass, and she doesn't want to rub salt in the wound. Then one day he can’t help but make a joke at her expense and she snaps back with a snarky retort. It’s a shift back into familiar territory, but it’s with a new foundation of mutual civility and consideration for each other.

Give me an Ema who realizes that she knows what it’s like to have been deceived by an older sibling who you were supposed to trust implicitly. So even if she finds his attitude utterly grating most days, she can never bring herself to hate Klavier for the mistakes he made when he was younger when he was acting on the advice of someone he trusted. Even if she could salvage a relationship with her sister in the end, it does not erase the years of uncertainty and loneliness or the lingering doubts.

Give me a Klavier who starts paying attention to how his own attitude could rub someone the wrong way, and how his own standard of perfection and success is not necessarily shared by all. He considers how disheartening it must have been for his colleague (and now maybe work friend?) to fail to realize her own childhood dream, despite her best efforts. He had once made a disparaging remark about the forensics experts and how as a detective, Ema has even more authority, so shouldn’t she be more grateful for that? When he remembers the brief pause in her reaction, the hurt and dismay in her eyes that quickly gave way to outrage and the outburst that had followed, he apologizes to her for making the remark in the first place. Maybe he's surprised when she forgives him (and maybe so is she).

Give me a Klavier who feels he has to atone not just for his own mistakes but for those of his brother. It's enough for Ema to see that maybe there is goodness in him. There is a man who wants to do better and be better.

Give me these work friends bringing coffee to each other and sharing stories over them while they're working. Give me a Klavier and Ema that start to spend time together outside work and finding each other to be great company, actually. Making time for each other in their lives to the point where they are a welcome and expected presence. Where it just hasn’t been a regular day if Klavier doesn’t make a lightly flirtatious or self-aggrandizing remark or if Ema doesn’t bring him back down to earth.

Give me a Klavier that encourages Ema to follow her dreams, to try again and again until she has what she wants. Who, if he could, would move heaven and earth to make her dreams come true, but he knows how much sweeter that accomplishment feels when it's earned through one's own merit. Klavier who stops to consider why he would feel that way, why he would want to do that for her.

Give me Ema who's so so happy when she gets the news. Ema Skye, Forensic Investigator. Doesn't it just roll off the tongue? She thinks so, and she's bursting to tell the world. Give me an Ema who finds Klavier and wants to celebrate with him because he's been supporting her through her renewed efforts, and maybe a small part of her still wants to gloat. Give me Ema, whose insides warm when Klavier gives her the brightest and most sincere smile she's seen from him. She must have seen him smile like that before, but here it takes her breath away.

Give me Klavier and Ema suddenly with mixed feelings. Unable to shake the realization that they might not work together anymore. This is a good thing... right?

Give me a Klavier and Ema with tension, but this time it's the tension that comes with unspoken feelings. Feelings that they can't even fully admit to themselves. Of course he's happy to see her achieve her professional dream, so why is he worried that she'll never want to be around him again now that they don't have to be? Meanwhile, she can't pretend that he's still just the 'glimmerous fop' she once couldn't stand. He is still that glimmerous fop she can't stand... sometimes. He is also much more than that, and that 'much more' is what she has come to admire and miss in him.

Give me a Klavier and Ema that try to fight their feelings at first. Maybe there's embarrassment because 'ew, are you even supposed to have crushes when you're 25?'. But at some point it just grows and grows until there is no hiding the stolen glances or lingering touches. Someone has to eventually make the first move. There is awkwardness as there always is when you're in uncharted territory, but they want to go through it together.

Give me a Klavier and Ema filling their shared moments with banter in one minute, and then with companionable silence in the next. Give me a Klavier and Ema who root for each other, tease each other, and still drive each other crazy. Who somehow couldn't get away from the other. A Klavier and Ema who don't want to be apart from each other.

Give me Klema.

SIGMA SKETCH CUZ HES MY BABY AND I LOVE HIM

(kindly ignore the hands. and hair. and everything else.)

Rating: General Audiences

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Pairing: Klavier Gavin/Reader

Prompt by @sicktember :

[Day 12] Prompt 12; "You're not fine, you're throwing up a lung!"

(playing turnabout serenade and i pause to painstakingly write out a note) klavier..... is..... a..... service..... top......

i was re-reading my first fic (it's an unfinished long fic and I wanted to get an idea on wtf is going on to complete the thing), and holy shit do I want to delete the fic and myself from existence

like I wanna go up to every single person who has ever read this crap and genuinely apologize

holy fuck kaiser is SUCH a slut in his FIRST (!!) official art it's not even funny

hey guys, remember the post i made two and a half hours ago about making a soukoku songfic (Feel Better by Penelope Scott) with Dazai's POV? well.. enjoy the 2k words!! edit: uploaded on ao3 and attached link!!

A nice pace—it was the best description Dazai could come up with whenever he asked himself to describe what sort of a life he was living now.

Not too slow like it was before joining the Detective Agency—he needed some action, but not as violent and urgent as his Port Mafia days.

But something prevented him from outright admitting that.

Sure, the usual hectic nature of the office was enough, and his co-workers were alright, but something felt off.

Dazai’s pen glided over the sheet, the ink melting into the page precisely as he directed the object to.

Precise. That was his life. Something he personally and perfectly curated it to. Of course, he was a genius, and with that came some useful methods to manipulate his surroundings to just what he preferred.

For some reason, he'd been doing the opposite as of late.

Likely to distance himself from the mafia. Obviously he continued to hide behind his mask, but his mannerisms were so much more genuine.

There was only one person he'd shown that side to before.

The grip on his pen tightened and his movements paused, making the ink pool over the specific spot and ruin the word that was previously placed.

His previous train of thought far gone, he shifted to a new line, and began to write, this time with less grace.

I don't wanna feel better

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over you

I wanna sit with you in bed

I don't wanna feel better

I'd give anything to miss you again

I don't wanna get over it

I wanna get under it instead

It felt as if his inner-consciousness was regularly at war with his brain. Thoughts of Hatrack somehow always seemed to invade and plague his mind.

Of course he could keep his mind hushed during the day and force himself to pay attention to work; but in the quiet confines of the night, however, the designated time he kept to truly tear his feelings and thoughts out as the room was darkened in solitude other than that lampshade…

The lampshade was nothing but a personification he created in his mind. The lampshade didn't actually care. No, the lampshade shouldn't care.

He hated that he wanted the lampshade to care, though.

…He was surprised at that particular thought. Was he healing like the lampshade told him so?

A book sits on top of clean and messy blankets

On a bed that fuckin' creaks at night when I get in it late

And late at night, I'm chugging Gatorade

And someone's breaking up when I crack up

Because I know I'll never know just what to say

Ever since he'd left the Port Mafia, all he had done was write. What else was there to do before joining the Agency?

So he wrote.

He filled out books with diary entries. Alongside keeping journals, he began to write poems.

Just like now.

He was honestly surprised how he hadn't done this earlier in his mafia days—it was so much easier to express his thoughts in writing than saying it out loud.

Of course he'd tried. He tried. He tried for him.

Eventually it's impossible to continue, even if the person deserves it.

I'm a communist, a terrorist, an MPDG thot

Or I'm a sad girl in a dorm room, living out the shady Christian plot of

Twilight or The Bible or The Lover by Duras

Or I'm just really fuckin' selfish and really fuckin' lost

It really felt as if he were in a reimagining of some cliché tragic romance, and only for him.

Surely Slug had forgotten all about him. And even if he hadn't, surely he'd have such an impression that, if Dazai’s name were brought up, he'd dismiss the topic with a scorn.

That certainly was the case. Dazai was never wrong in his calculations, after all.

…But, what did he think of that deduction?

But someone loved me, someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me and I fuckin' loved them too

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' learned something

I had my cake (I ate it, it ate me too and, God, no)

I don't wanna feel better

Some things always fascinated Dazai.

The fact that he could be the object of affection, for one.

Being so wasn't the same as respect; he had the respect of so many—Port Mafia members when he was still one, his co-workers in the Detective Agency, but to truly be the muse to one’s love and kindness?

His first thought would go to Odasaku. But that was familial.

His second thought made him wonder how he always managed to fucked things up.

We kept our liquor in a suitcase underneath my bed

And we drank it to go out or just stay in or to feel sad

But in a hot way, a way I'll fuckin' never have again

The sun has began to set

Of course Dazai and Slug knew each other as teenagers. And of course they’d drink anyway, because they'd done much more illegal shit than underage drinking.

Dazai drunk a lot. Alone, with his former friends, and even now with the adult members of the Agency—but nothing could meet the odd domesticity of him and Chibi cheering after a mission in his apartment.

Sometimes they drunk because of their shitty lives. Sometimes they drunk just because. Sometimes they drunk as an excuse to stay in his bedroom.

Sometimes they drunk to have something to blame as they awoke a day later in the bed unclothed.

The lamp flickered.

I'm a socialist, Marxist, libertarian slut

I am an awkward teenage virgin and I sort of kinda laugh a lot in bed

But other times, I cry or don't make noise at all

I'd give my life to have a room that feels that small

Dazai is known for his exaggerated expressions—it looked as if he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

It was all a mask, of course. Why would Dazai be that vulnerable voluntarily? Someone would have to force it out.

Someone had.

It felt as if it were yesterday, clinging onto his shirt and bunching it all up in his hands as Dazai buried his face into the shorter man’s neck at an awkward angle, sobbing uncontrollably.

Or sometimes they’d sit together in the comfortable silence.

It wasn't as if he didn't trust the Agency’s members and couldn't be as vulnerable with them because of it, but simply that only when all of them were combined did they equal to what he had with Chibi.

Would he really mind if he’d have to make a switch in spending time with him, than the ADA?

'Cause someone loved me, someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me, I loved them too

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' earned something

I have a right to die, a right to live, a right to choose, too

And God, no!

Of course I don't wanna feel better!

Can you fucking imagine?!

The concept of having a reason to live had always confused Dazai. It was possibly his biggest question in life which he usually never gave a second thought to.

Until, of course, the reason arrived. In full force.

Chibi’s reaction to Dazai simply staring at the vein he’d nicked too hard once—the frantic begging for Dazai to take things seriously, the panic in his eyes, a whole storm, not only in his irises, but visible on his face.

He sort of stopped.

He isn't aware why he doesn't go all out while trying out methods anymore.

…To think that blatantly false statement would mock his intellect, yet it was his own thought from his own mind.

He didn't need to think further, simply observing the pen going over the ruled lines in order.

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over it

I wanna rip the stars to shreds

I don't wanna feel better

Of course he'd had one night stands here and there in the aftermath of leaving the Mafia.

For him? It was good enough.

He knew it'd be fruitless to look for love, so obviously he wouldn't even bother trying.

Of course it hurt, of course it fuckin' hurt

It hurt like nothing in the world sometimes

That I was super scared, and we were all a train-wreck

And also somehow making it

I think I might've died there twice, and I would do it all again

Port Mafia had fucked him up.

No, to only write one sentence to describe what he had gone through would be an understatement.

The only reason he could even recognise that was because of a special few.

Slug, Odasaku, and now the Agency members. The Agency members who made him unknowingly recognise how easily an environment can be uncontrolling and non-manipulating.

But, despite the change in scenery, which was clearly doing wonders for his mental health—something felt wrong.

Off.

Sure, life at the mafia was terrible, but it felt home, because that was all Dazai knew once. And as the years passed upon his leaving, he came to the revelation that he'd go through with it all over again for him.

I'm a nihilist, a soldier, an OCD-machine

Or I'm a healthy baby-girl who traded sunshine for disease

But when my head hit my cheap pillow, I could tell I had a heart

And I wanna tear this fascist Milky Way apart

Being a weapon never bothered Dazai.

He never even had a reason to live, so when Mori came along, Dazai played his games.

Continuing his way of living with an attempt here and there—the usual. For him, the glass would always be half empty.

Or atleast supposed to.

Getting a reason to live is weird.

'Cause someone loved me, someone fuckin' loved me

All my filthy life I loved someone I barely knew

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' learned something

And it felt better in my mouth than fresh warm food

Port Mafia was his entire life once.

And they were partners once.

For the important part of his life, Slug was all he knew. He knew and didn't at the same time.

Sure they told each other things, but it was always either the heaviest childhood trauma or an exchange of insults—no in between.

In spite of the insulting remarks, he felt so understood.

He actually felt as if he had worth.

It was a nice dynamic.

His frantic pace of writing practically turned to scribbles.

I guess I loved you, I guess I really loved you

All my filthy life I loved someone I barely knew

And now you're over there, and I'm way over here

What am I gonna do?

Guess he would admit it.

And he frankly, didn't care.

He didn't care that he'd lost his only chance. He didn't care if the one person who saw him for what he truly was, the one person who’d shown him love and affection in his own way, didn't care.

Good.

Chuuya would feel better without him.

He didn't care if Chuuya believed the opposite. He didn't care if Chuuya believed that having someone who cared about him would help him feel better.

If that truly were the case?

I don't wanna feel better

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over you

I wanna sit with you in bed

I don't wanna feel better

Somehow, his mind, his treacherous fucking mind, wanted the opposite. Not the calculating, rational one—no, the emotional one.

He wanted to get over him, he really did—but why would his hand write the opposite? Why did his subconscious steer his strokes in the other direction? Why had he done so the entire poem?

…He really did want to sit in bed with Chuuya one last time.

I hope everyone helps even a little, thank you everyone for your humanity

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